Alone
by myrtlenator
Summary: And it was George’s most dreaded sight, the possibility he had been denying to himself all his life: Fred’s body was utterly silent and unmoving. He did not understand how his heart could possibly go on beating without the other. Chapter 3 is up.
1. Chapter 1

**Note: This is my first fanfiction EVER, so please feel free to tell me if it's terrible. :) Seriously, I need some expert opinions here! I'm really not a writer, but I was so broken up by Fred's death that this story just poured out of me. There are at least two more chapters to come, which I'll post if I get any response. Thanks!**

**Discaimer: Yeah, Fred & George (and all the other characters mentioned) aren't mine. Only in my dreams. sigh**

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With a last _Stupefy!_ and flick of his wand, George finished that old troll of a DE and dashed out of the deserted corridor to find his next opponent. He sprinted easily down the hallway, wondering whether he or Fred had dispatched more Death Eaters. Well, of course, not to disrespect the seriousness of the stakes, but a little friendly rivalry wouldn't hurt. Be a bit of a motivation. He was musing on this when something hit him and made him halt immediately. It was a sensation he had never felt before, but he clearly and instinctively knew it was bad. He froze on the spot and waited for the strange sense of cold and hopelessness that now permeated his body to subside. He stood there for a few moments, but it did not change. It felt like something had been wrenched out of a supposedly firm grasp. And he thought he knew what it was, but it was impossible to admit that to himself. For though deep down, sometimes right before he fell into sleep, or in the rare moments when Fred's whereabouts had been unknown to him, the thought had crept into his mind–_What if something happens to Fred?_–he had truly never allowed himself to give the thought any consideration. It simply wasn't going to happen, the two of them had convinced each other of that when they were quite small. George thought back to that short conversation that had given him so much security:

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Fred & George were seven. They had been playing on Bill and Charlie's broomsticks like they always did when Fred fell off his and broke his leg. Mum was able to fix it up easily enough, but she wanted Fred to spend the rest of the day in bed to be sure it healed. Naturally, George didn't feel like playing outside alone, so the two were spending a rare quiet afternoon in their room. Fred was trying to enchant Ron's teddy bear to turn into a spider, and George was looking at his _Great Beaters of Gryffindor_ picture book. After a while, George lost interest in the book and fell into deep thought. After a few minutes of consideration (quite a long time for the twins), he raised his head to look at his twin.

"Freddie?" he asked quietly.

"Yeah?"

"Well...you know how we're together all the time?"

"Sure."

"Um...Do you think it'll always be like that?" George asked, a little nervously.

Fred grinned. "Well, of course!"

"_Forever_?"

Fred's face turned serious. "Look, Georgie. We were created together, right? So that means we gotta stick together. See, we're not like them." He jerked a thumb toward the door. "We ain't alone. _Ever_. It's always the both of us. It's better that way. And we're gonna keep it that way. Forever."

George's face relaxed. "Good. That's what I thought too. The two of us together, always!"

"Of course," Fred agreed. "I mean, what's Gred without Forge?"

"Yeah!" George chuckled.

And they shook on it.

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They had agreed that whatever happened, the two of them had been created together and must therefore stay together, always. They hadn't ever discussed it again, but George never forgot their little seven-year-old's vow. And he had taken that promise, and gripped it as well as he could, and it had been there and kept the unthinkable thought of real separation mostly away all these years. But he knew it had come. He could barely recall the security of the promise, and the terrible sense of foreboding filled him. But he still couldn't bear to believe something had happened to Fred. He was stuck in this trap, unable to move for fear, when another Death Eater's _Expelliarmus_ charm came zooming towards him; he leapt into action and just managed to avoid the Death Eater. He kept running down the corridor, stopping enemy after enemy, but he didn't exalt in his victories as before because the dread & anxiousness were still there. Eventually, he found himself in front of the entrance to the Great Hall, and had to enter to make sure. He strode into the Hall, anxiously peering through the crowds to spot his family. Finally, he caught a glimpse of the telltale shocking red hair. His parents, Bill, Charlie, Percy, Ron, and Ginny were gathered in a tight circle; he couldn't make out what was in the center of their little group, if anything. He hurried over and tapped his father on the back. His father spun round quickly.

"Hey, what's going on?" He asked, trying appear nonchalant. "Is everyone okay? Harry and the rest holding up alright?"

His father stared a bit and attempted to formulate a response, with little success.

That was not a good sign. "Hey, Dad, where's Fred? I have to make sure he's-uh-I have to tell him something."

His father's expression was grave. George did not like it. His father didn't seem to know what to say; he simply stepped aside.

And it was George's most dreaded sight, the possibility he had been denying to himself all his life:

His twin, his exact replica, laying on the floor, his face stretched in the classic grin, laughter somehow still in his eyes, but this a terrifying new meaning of laughter. Before he knew it George was on the ground and his head fell onto his twin's chest. He waited for the sound of the heart beating, carrying blood, thoughts, and waiting laughter. But it was not there. Fred's body was utterly silent and unmoving.

And everything was black, or white, or gray, or something. He hadn't fainted somehow, he thought, but he couldn't see a thing. His hands were desperately clutching Fred's cold fingers. All he could feel and hear was his own heart still beating. His breath was very quick and shallow. And his heartbeat: it seemed to pound so loudly, filling his ears unbearably with its unyielding, steady march. What struck him was that it sounded so solitary. Not because all the sounds of the Great Hall had faded, but because he knew it was now a single heartbeat. One. Alone. He couldn't fathom it. He had always known the rhythm of the twin heartbeats, and now there was only one. He did not understand how his heart could possibly go on beating without the other, the solitariness of it was so foreign to him. He was not supposed to be one, single. He was one of two; he came in a pair. The sensation of being linked with another had always been there, like the most natural sensations of breathing or of magic rushing through his body when he was young and did not know how to control it. He had always figured it was something like the way ordinary people felt when they were with their soul mate. But this was more, because he had never had to search for it like other people had to search for the one who really knew them, it had been there from the beginning. Knowing that there was another there with him at all times, that he was a team of two, had strengthened him, guided him. It had been, he thought, the crucial part of his personality, what made him Him, what made them Them.

And now...

It was all over.

Fred would never again be there to finish his sentences, speak with him, think like him, corroborate his plans, simply be there and know him, know everything about him as each automatically knew everything about the other. He would never again have his go-to partner in crime, his twin heartbeat. He was alone now; worse than alone, he was apart. Apart from the rest of his family, who could not possibly understand. Apart from a piece of himself that had been wrenched away. And he did not know how to live like that. And he was petrified of being forced to go on alone.

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**And there's the first chapter. Sad, ain't it? I'm not sure how much better it gets...Please leave responses if you want to find out! xD**


	2. Chapter 2

Wow, thanks a bunch for the responses. I was so happy to read them! I'm SO pleased that you guys thought I captured George's emotions well. That first chapter was just my initial outpouring of emotion; I barely even thought as I wrote it. I sat down and wrote this later on when I was more level-headed; hopefully it has the same emotion. Sorry it's a bit shorter than the first.

Disclaimer: The characters & such are JKR's of course.

He didn't know how long he lay there in murky darkness and silence. Eventually, someone, in the course of gathering the bodies, must have got him to move over to the wall of the Hall, and there he sat, still mostly unseeing. Later, he noticed everyone jumping up & down and cheering; he supposed they were so joyous because Voldemort had finally fallen. He imagined the fear that hung over all of them for years finally lifting, but he couldn't share in that. Truthfully, he and Fred had never feared Voldemort. Even when they joined the Order and went directly into battle, they'd figured they had nothing to fear. They didn't care if they were killed. Death and whatever happened after it would just be another adventure for the two of them. And the only thing worse than them both dying would be only one of them dying, but they'd promised they would always be together, and so it would be. George knew that Fred kept his promises. He had promised long ago that they'd always be together, so he always knew they would be. It was impossible for them to be separated, so it was impossible for Voldemort to hurt them.

Except...that wasn't true. They were separated. And that was the real reason he couldn't join in the festivities. How could he be happy without Fred supplying all the things for him to smile at?

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When the Weasleys were leaving, his father had to grab his hand and do side-along Apparition. They landed right outside the gate to the Burrow. George got up slowly. He knew that his entire existence was altered now. He would have to get used to doing everything differently. All his movements became quite deliberate to make sure he didn't mess up. The actual mechanics of walking through the garden were the same, but everything about it was different. It shook him to not be able to see, out of the corner of his eye, an identical pair of feet leaving identical footprints at the exact same time as his own. He kept glancing to the right, expecting to see Fred right there next to him, just like always. Each time he wasn't there, his breathing stopped again.

When they got into the kitchen, Mum went into Efficient, Let's-Get-Everything-Taken-Care-Of Mode. She directed everyone to various tasks, exclaiming that George's clothes were all bloody and he'd better go upstairs and change. He started slowly up the stairs to his room. He started thinking that this, really, wasn't so bad. He could live like this. He could deal with loneliness. He didn't need to think about the sound of his still unyieldingly solitary heartbeat. He didn't need anyone to understand him, he didn't even need to talk. He would be perfectly fine with forgetting his old life and just doing what his Mum suggested and not thinking about anything or–anyone. In fact he had pretty much stopped thinking entirely when he entered his old room and caught sight of his reflection in the mirror. Of course, he could only see Fred staring back at him. And something burst. He gripped the edges of the dresser and stared into his eyes. He let out an unending wail as his head was filled with images of Fred. He felt like all the pain the world had ever known was packed into his heart in that moment. He glared into his eyes, into Fred's eyes. "YOU SAID YOU'D NEVER LEAVE!" he roared at the reflection. "YOU PROMISED, DAMMIT!" His voice turned to a whimper. "You _promised. _You promised. You said we'd always be together, forever, and I believed you. And now we're not. What happened? How could you leave? HOW COULD YOU?" He continued to stare at his reflection. His face was red and blotchy and streaming with tears. This seemed silly to him; tears were what happened when a little kid scraped his knee. How could something so insignificant represent such a huge loss? Gradually, the tears stopped, and then he felt worn out and completely empty inside. He lay down on his bed and drifted into a kind of half-sleep. Every so often, his mother or father would come in to check on him. He ignored them as much as he could. When he got hungry enough, he would drift downstairs and pick at some food. He didn't care if this coincided with meal times or not. Several days passed in this manner. George was laying on his bed trying with all his might not to notice the empty bed next to him when his father came in.

"Hey George. How's it going?" his father asked.

George stared at the ceiling.

His father sighed. "Look, George, the--uh–funeral's tomorrow, and we just need to know if you want to give the eulogy."

George turned his head to look at his father, hoping his answer would be evident on his face. His father looked a little pained to see George's eyes, so big and wet, but clearly he was still waiting for an answer. George was reminded that Fred was the only person in the world who could know what he was thinking with just a look. He shook his head very slightly.

His father nodded a little. "Okay. That's fine. We've got plenty of other people who want to speak. See you in the morning." He left with a quick kiss on George's forehead.

George thought about eulogies. He knew it would have been impossible for him to give one, and was surprised his father hadn't realized that in the first place. How could a speech do any justice to Fred? What could he say to make people understand what he was feeling? Even if his eulogy was five hours long, it couldn't encompass this.

Oooh, angsty. Okay, sometime tomorrow I'll put Chapter 3, in which George goes to the funeral and has an epiphany of sorts. Reviews make me joyful. And, of course, they don't have to be just praise. I like constructive criticism. Thanks for reading!


	3. Chapter 3

**Thanks again for the lovely reviews. Here's the next chapter. I'm leaving for vacation tomorrow, so I won't be able to post an update until at least the 19th. Sorry...**

**Disclaimer: Not my characters.**

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The next morning, George got dressed slowly and went downstairs. He sat in the living room while everyone else was eating. He had no desire to be part of the festive atmosphere of a Weasey family meal.When they came into the living room, they all greeted him with hearty fake cheeriness:

"Hey! It's George!"

"How's it going, mate?"

"Great to see ya!"

These displays disgusted George. How could they pretend to be happy when he could feel that all the happiness had vanished from his life?

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When George got to the funeral, he stayed towards the back, carefully avoiding the area where the coffin was set up. Thankfully, everyone else seemed to want to stay away from him too. George listened as the eulogies began. Many people spoke: his father, Bill, friends from school. They talked about Fred's humor, his love of life, how much he would be missed by all. George didn't want to hear it. When some kid from school said, "We all know the twins, and we all know how devastating this must be for George," he couldn't take it any more, He got up and walked out of the funeral. He didn't give a shit if people saw or if they thought it was disrespectful. What was disrespectful was the way they were trying to talk about Fred, as if they understood. They didn't know him! Nobody knew him, except George! Just like nobody knew George, except Fred. And now nobody at all knew George. Nobody was there for him, like his other half had been. He knew how mourning worked. Sure, they were sad now, but in a few months they'd get over it and they would be going about their daily business as if Fred had never been there. Nobody's lives would be changed–except George's. He knew he would always be aware of the loss, every single moment he was conscious. And they could never understand that. They would expect him to get over it, as one would eventually get over any other loss. But this was so much different. _They_ had been alone all their lives, _they_ were used to it. They couldn't understand how it felt for George to be alone. Worse than alone. Because he wasn't just by himself now--he was _less_ than himself. And how do you get over that?

He had reached a boulder by the lake and was sitting on it trembling with fear and anger when he saw a dark figure hurrying towards him. Lee Jordan, their best friend, who he hadn't seen since the battle. Lee sat on the boulder next to him. "Hey," he said, a somber look on his face.

George was grateful that Lee didn't try to speak with pathetic false happiness. He stared at his friend, searching for some sort of help. Lee looked compassionate. George realized that even talking would be different now. He would have to finish his own sentences, for one thing. He spoke slowly, carefully. "How...how can they talk about him?" he implored. "They didn't _know_ him!"

Lee nodded a little. "I know, mate. It's hard."

"What the hell am I supposed to do?"

"Look, I knew Fred, and I know he wouldn't have wanted you to be so hurt. He would have told you you'll be just fine on your own, and--"

"Stop it! Shut up! You didn't know him! You _didn't_! Nobody knew him except me! You can't go and tell me what he would have wanted and say I'll be fine without him because I WON'T, and obviously you can't understand that! Because you don't bloody know what it's LIKE! So just stop butting in and leave me alone, because that's what I am anyway, ALONE. I never ever was before, but I always will be now and there's nothing you or I or anyone can bloody do about it!"

"No, mate, that's not true, you can move on--"

"NO! I can't. I won't. I don't WANT to!" And with that, George stalked away, leaving Lee confused and hurt.

George ran across the field, crying so hard he couldn't breathe. He didn't know where he was going, but he didn't care, as long as he was moving, because the effort it took to keep running was enough to keep him from thinking about what he'd just said. He didn't bother to look what was in front of him; who cared if he ended up running off a cliff? But somehow he found himself in the tent where the funeral had been set up. The attendees were all gathering their things to go, and some hired wizards were packing up the tent and chairs, but the coffin was still there. He leaned over it and gripped the edges, staring desperately into Fred's eyes for what he knew would be the last time. "What do you want me to do?" he whispered. "How am I supposed to go on? Alone?" He thought about it. He'd had twenty perfect years. There was more happiness there than a lot of people had ever known. Now that was all over. He would never again execute the perfect joke with his twin at his side. He knew that he would be utterly alone for the rest of his life, that no one could ever understand what he was feeling and actually get close to him, and that his chances for happiness had been ruined. But he & Fred had spent their lives making others happy with their jokes. Why did that need to stop? He still knew how to make a good Nosebleed Nougat, he still knew how to make people smile. He knew everyone else would get over Fred's death soon enough, and when they were ready to be happy again, he wasn't going to bring them down. He was going to be right there ready to give them new laughter. Because if he was making others happy, what would it matter if his own loneliness stopped him from feeling their joy?

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**Aw, poor Lee. tear Poor George too. **

**I don't know what to do with this now. I mean, I know what happens to George, but I can't decide if I should just write an epilogue, showing how his life ends up, or show his whole journey, which would be quite an undertaking and require many more chapters, but would be interesting to write. Is the story pretty much done, or does it call for/deserve a longer treatment? What do you guys think? **

**Feedback is hugely appreciated. Thanks much.**


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